


it's late and this song is for you

by badbadnotgood



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: 1x15 aftermath, F/F, a lack of the real world and a lot of domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbadnotgood/pseuds/badbadnotgood
Summary: They killed a guy. It's hammering it down outside. They're potentially ending up in jail tonight.It's okay, though, because she took Laurel home instead.





	it's late and this song is for you

_“How the hell do you have that?”_

Those three martinis are suddenly curling unpleasantly in her stomach. She wants to look literally anywhere else, and she can’t.

Laurel’s talking at her. Connor’s car? No. She didn’t get this far for this.

“Laurel,” she says, carefully. “Get rid of it.”

That ring is every mistake she’s made in her adult life, staring her in the face and she doesn’t need it from Laurel.

* * *

 

“Maybe you should—“

They just missed the rain, running for the apartment block, Laurel almost tripping and falling on the sidewalk in those flat shoes that have to be more of a hazard than Michaela’s stilettos.

“Hm? Eat something, fix some coffee up? Have you tuck me in?”

Laurel rolls her eyes, “Believe me, another three martinis would go down great right now, but we should take it easy. Annalise’ll have us in at seven in the morning if that’s what she wants. So, yeah, maybe a coffee would be less intense.”

Michaela ignores her. “I could get you a mixer if you’d prefer,” she throws over her shoulder.

Wherever Laurel is. Probably standing awkwardly with the sleeves of her jacket over her hands. Michaela smiles to herself at the thought.

“You hold your liquor well?” Michaela coos. She slips a few ice cubes and a chunk of lime into rum, syrup and soda water.

Laurel’s perched on her couch when she turns around, hands balled nervously in her lap. “I don’t know, Michaela. Maybe I’m busy worrying about a potential-murderer on her way to rat us out for killing her best friend’s hook-up to enjoy myself.”

“Well, start,” Michaela tells her. “And turn your phone off. That’s how we get out of a 7AM call in. Besides, there’s no chance we’re getting anything out of Annalise with Wes going AWOL. And this,” she lifts her glass, liquid almost spilling over the rim, “is self-care.  Yeah, we’re on our way to jail, probably. Like this fucking day could get worse.”

“Michaela,” her eyes look glossy in the light of the sconces. “We could talk about it, if you want. All this.”

Michaela hates her pity. In the courthouse, their workplace, towards Frank. Laurel’s heavy brows and wide eyes that are so genuine. How she puts everyone first.

She looks down at her hands instead, reconsidering the cocktail. “I’ve had a bad day. Aiden’s mom, just--- I want a break, okay? I think I deserve that.”

“No, of course,” she wets her lips, “but where do I fall into this? Hardly sparked your mood.”

That stings. I like being with you, Michaela wants to say. You take me away from it. But that’s not how it is. Michaela’s put up those barriers, kept it together because God knows the five of them would fall apart if she didn’t.

“I want your company,” Michaela says firmly, trying not to grit her teeth. “I want to sit. For a few hours, without a workload. Jesus, I knew law school would be no walk in the park, but neither is being your professor’s cheating husband’s God damn murderer.”

It’s getting easier to admit. Slips right off the tongue. Liquid courage.

Laurel doesn’t say much more, doesn’t flinch, heads into Michaela’s room like she does it every night.

Michaela lets the gin end up on the counter and slips off her heels at the door. The laminate is cold against the arches of her feet, even more noticeable with the force of the rain hitting the windows.

Maybe Laurel did kill her mood. The buzz of the alcohol died out into a mild burn in her chest as soon as they got here, so her last night of freedom is hardly going to be the drunken utopia she’d been anticipating since precisely 2:30PM.

When Laurel comes back in, it’s in Michaela’s sweats and a t-shirt she snagged from Aiden a while ago. She doesn’t even question it, snatches up the glass one more time for a sip to subside her suddenly dry mouth. It looks better on Laurel.

Laurel’s holding shorts for Michaela, along with a duvet and pillows.

“Slumber party?”

It’s ridiculous. Really, she could call a cab and kick her out right now.

“You’re crazy,” Michaela says.

She watches Laurel shrug and throw the duvet lightly over the couch, replacing the cushions with pillows and perching herself right in the middle, waiting for Michaela.

She looks smaller, all folded patiently. Michaela swallows away a dry throat, puts her drink down.

For once in her life, she’s shy under Laurel’s gaze and her words. “Want me to dress you, too?”

Michaela folds her arms petulantly. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

And, really? What is the protocol here? This can’t honestly be treated as Laurel is proposing it, not when her gaze keeps falling over Michaela, far from innocent.

“Gonna come over here?”

 _Okay_ , Michaela thinks. _This night is for me, I’m not going to apologise. I’ll deal with my complicated sexual orientation later._

Laurel’s knuckles are cool when they brush Michaela’s thighs and hips as she slides the dress up her body, over the curve of her ass and breasts.

Laurel’s eyes follow the hem of the dress, the rise of Michaela’s arms, up until she pulls it through Michaela’s hair gently.

It’s obscene and intimate, and Michaela’s putting a lot of effort into keeping it together because she hasn’t seemed to do intimate for a long time. She can barely remember. Laurel, though, she’s so gentle and willingly close.

It’s easier, talking. Laurel is always too quiet. “You wanna move it along?”

Laurel doesn’t flinch, not like Michaela would want her to, just pulls the shirt over her head and lets her deal with the sweatpants.

“That was so dumb,” Laurel says under her breath, snagging the remote from the coffee table and falling back into the pillows. “What do you want?”

“Netflix is hot garbage for horror movies,” Michaela sighs, “I’ve been through enough.”

“Ooh,” Laurel stretches her legs to the table, crossing them at the ankle, “We feeling something scary?”

Michaels doesn’t answer, rolls her eyes fondly and swings her legs across Laurel’s lap and doesn’t make a deal of it. Laurel hovers over The Woman in Black. “You’ll totally be hiding behind the couch during that.”

“It’s a PG-13!”

“Could watch a Netflix original,” Michaela suggests, “Even though they suck.”

“As you wish.”

The movie’s kicking in by the time Laurel complains they forgot to get snacks. Michaela knows she has nothing of the sort in anyway, just everything for a thrown-together salad, alcohol and everything you’d need to make a two or three different pasta dishes.

“Adults don’t have microwave popcorn, Laurel.”

Laurel scoffs. “Party killer. What, you want baked brie? Stuffed pepper for our viewing?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Michaela repeats, “If you want to run to the store for chips, I’ll be here.”

Laurel gives a thoughtful look. “I’ll pass. We’ll just suffer with your expensive hot chocolate.”

They settle in, but the screen is difficult to pay attention to. Laurel’s warm and her long fingers envelope the muscle of Michaela’s calves, pressing in lightly and relieving strain Michaela didn’t know was there. “Can’t believe you killed my tipsy vibe.”

“I know you don’t need any guidance in life,” Laurel murmurs, and Michaela could snort at how dumb that sounded, “But I like knowing you’re okay. I know that you like to be the one keeping to all together. We’re all probably fucked beyond belief and I have a feeling this is just the start.”

Laurel’s hands still, so Michaela pushes her legs further into her lap so she continues rubbing at them. “I’ve managed to keep every-shitty-thing else in my life at bay from dragging me down. I’m on my way to a career, I have myself. I’ve always had myself.”

“Michaela—“

“Just think,” she pushes her head further onto Laurel’s shoulder, “We won’t even talk in a few years. Any of us. If we make it out of Law school alive.”

“So jail’s off the cards now?”

“Hm,” that hadn’t crossed her mind during the past hour, “Wes might be with her convincing her not to. And wherever Wes is, Annalise is close by. You know damn well the cops know better than to target a wealthy Law professor. You know that gets dealt with in house.”

“Think the criminal justice system has surprised me more than a few times over the past sixth months,” Laurel says, quietly. “Wouldn’t put jail past any of us.”

Michaela doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t want to. She’s comfortable with not discussing the future of their lives when she won’t even stay in contact with Laurel. This, now, she doesn’t know what it is. But it’s a lot nicer than getting a call from her fiancé telling her the wedding is off. Or from Bonnie telling her they need to deal with another body.

Laurel makes them hot chocolate when the movie comes to an end, a mint flavoured one she finds in Michaela’s cupboard. She’s a little dispirited at Michaela’s lack of baby marshmallows.

She’s driving Michaela crazy.

Laurel finds Gone Girl, totally not legally, and they lay back into the warmth of the couch.

Michaela keeps an eye on the time, quietly waiting for her door to be broken down, but it doesn’t come. It’s 2AM before she relaxes and gets sucked into the movie, which is pretty damn great.

She’ll add it to the growing list of things she likes about Laurel: good taste in movies.

“I want to hear about it,” Laurel says into the quiet of the room.

Michaela has to blink away the heaviness in her eyelids. “What’s that?”

“Life problems,” she says, carefully. “If I earn the right to know yours, that is. It’s just… My family life kinda sucks, too. I prefer being with you guys, if you hadn’t noticed.”

God help her, she could share her expertise with more competent and less annoying Law students, but Michaela is fond of the Keating 5, too. “You’re okay,” she says instead.

“I’ll take it.”

Michaela could fall asleep right there. The rain’s pattering on the windows over the volume of the TV every so often, and it’s not long before Laurel realises the couch is a recliner and pulls the level, bringing up the leg rest so she can take her feet off the hardness of the coffee table and curl up into the sofa, bringing Michaela with her.

“Did you really want to take one of those banker douches home?” Laurel murmurs, eyes on the screen, lips in a thin line.

She’s got a habit of knocking the wind out of Michaela. “Took someone better home.”

Laurel looks at her a little unsure, a little surprised and all beautiful.

Michaela doesn’t think twice.

The kiss is slightly damp because Laurel parts her lips a little when they slot together with Michaela’s, all soft pressure and warmth, and Michaela melts. Laurel’s hand smooths over her thigh, then comes up to cradle her neck and tilt her head to the side to get a better angle on the kiss. Their tongues brush once, twice, and a third time before Laurel pulls back with a small tug on Michaela’s bottom lip.

Michaela sucks in a breath, “Can we—“

“Tomorrow,” Laurel promises, “We’ll talk. I want—we’ll go out, I’ll buy breakfast. On me, yeah?”

Michaela tries not to let it sting, tries not to feel rejected.

“Hey,” Laurel takes her face in her hands, “We’ll know if everything has calmed down by tomorrow. I want to do it properly. To talk.”

Michaela swallows. “I get it.”

“No,” Laurel protests, “I don’t even know what this is but I know I don’t want to fuck it up like every other mess I’ve gotten myself into. I care about you, Michaela, and you deserve more than this. Do you even know what you want?”

“No one’s ever asked,” she whispers.

“You have a marriage to think about, Michaela. That’s the rest of your life.”

It’s settled. The shit with Connor and coming clean with Aiden’s mom today was enough to decide this for her. Just the sight of that ring makes her sick.

“I want to sleep,” Michaela decides.

“Okay,” Laurel says, “Yeah.”

They lay back, Laurel against the back of the couch and Michaela against Laurel, Laurel nosing the nape of her neck and her arms around Michaela.

It might be three in the morning when Michaela falls asleep from the warmth of Laurel surrounding her.

* * *

When she wakes up, it’s with a blanket instead of Laurel, and the smell of coffee brewing.

She can see Laurel in the kitchen from her spot on the couch, scrolling through her phone and pushing eggs half-heartedly with a spatula around a frying pan. She’s still in Michaela’s sweats, and her hair is pulled up in a messy bun. Michaela wants her right back over here, actually.

The rain’s let up, but the apartment is just on the side of chilly, so she quickly grabs a pair of socks from her bedroom drawer, slips them on and heads into the kitchen.

Sleeping on it maybe was the best idea because Michaela’s wondering how appropriate it would be to wrap herself around Laurel from behind, but she doesn't want to startle her into dropping her phone into a hot frying pan of food.

She makes sure her footsteps on the laminate aren't completely mute when she walks over to Laurel. “I got you domesticated already?”

“Cheeky,” Laurel laughs, “But maybe. Was waiting for you to wake up since I don’t know how you take your coffee.”

Michaela goes for the fridge, pulling out cream and strawberries. “Cream, two sugars. I don’t drink it much.”

“And that’s why you go for the expensive stuff.”

Michaela smirks, pulls the stem off a strawberry and pops the whole thing in her mouth with a wink, “Mhm.”

Laurel’s cheeks look pink when she smiles, but she tries hiding it from Michaela by turning back to the eggs.

“You changed your mind about buying me breakfast?”

“About that,” Laurel turns to face her, hand coming up to brush a thick wave of hair out of Michaela’s face, “I didn’t want to wake you up, and I was hungry. Plus, it means we get two breakfast dates.”

“Dates, huh?”

Michaela’s trying to play it off, but Laurel keeps giving her these serious looks. “Whatever you want, Michaela,” she says.

They eat at the kitchen counter, Michaela perched on a stool, sipping the coffee that Laurel got perfect, and Laurel standing, eyes on her phone.

“Quit it,” Michaela complains, “You’re making me nervous.”

“Well,” Laurel sighs, “No news is good news.”

“You’re refreshing those damn news sites?”

Laurel gives her a look. “That sounds more responsible and adult-like than admitting I’m searching the app store for new games.”

“Oh my god,” Michaela laughs.

“What?”

“Is this my life now?”

She likes making Laurel smile at her. “We’re not in jail, so it can be.”

“Shut up and eat your eggs,” Michaels says fondly.

* * *

 

Lazy days never really are what they say they are for Michaela. She likes burying herself in work, usually, working out at the gym with podcasts and playlists playing to let off steam.

With Laurel, though, she feels like she’s getting the full experience of relaxation. Mentally, if nothing else.

They go over to Laurel’s place so she can shower and change, and head out for lunch.

The restaurant is nice. Cosy, rustic and pretty. Very Laurel.

It’s easy to talk. She feels she’s gained enough of Laurel’s trust to have her open up like this, about anything. She makes Laurel laugh, and Laurel looks at her, barely acknowledges the room full of people.

They don’t get to the gritty stuff, not yet. They talk about school, but Laurel seems different than last night. Like she’s ready to move past this and just get on with it. That’s all the rallying Michaela needs.

She couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a day off.

Laurel invites Michaela over to her apartment later on and makes them a Mexican rice dish with margaritas, since Michaela is fond of them now.

“Not looking forward to an early morning,” Michaela says when Laurel hands her a plate to dry. “I’m relaxed. Thinking about our sorry criminal asses is making me not-relaxed.”

Laurel puts away the last of the dishes. “Annalise has us covered. God if I know, but she does.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“That’s because I’m not,” Laurel states, “But we’re safe, as far as I’m concerned. You need to take your own advice and not look over your shoulder every two minutes.”

“Easier said than done.”

Laurel takes Michaela’s hands in hers, pulls her closer. “Do I have to wine and dine you some more?”

“Wouldn’t turn it down,” Michaela smirks, “Not from you.”

“Looks like I owe you dessert.”

Michaela wants to know if she gets kisses with that. “And kisses?”

“What do you think I meant by dessert?” Laurel asks, breath warm over Michaela’s lips and hands at her waist.

 _Oh_ , Michaela thinks. That, she’s on board with.


End file.
